It was a day of infamy, but no one will ever make a History Channel documentary about it.

It was Wednesday and the infamous Gates Four Gangsome was on the road once again. The scene of the crime was Little River Golf Resort, and if director of golf Marvin Waters had only known what was coming, he probably wouldn’t have been so eager to roll out the welcome wagon.

Only a couple of the guys had played Little River before and had no idea of the beauty or the challenge that awaited them. The original layout has been softened, making it play a little easier. But truth is, you’d still better pick the right tees or you’re going to be in for a long day, with the emphasis on long.

The average age of the G-4 Gangsome is Social Security eligible, and at least half of them need permission slips to be away from home for more than four hours. There were only five guys in the group who had to play from the white (regular) tees. The other 11 merrily motored on up to the silver (super senior) tees and reveled all day in watching the unlucky five try to reach “their” tees in one shot.

One of the neat things about this outing was the fact that Little River equips its carts with GPS. If not, there would probably still be a search going on for a couple of the guys. Sense of direction is not one of the strong points of this group anymore.

After the round, the stories being told over the libations and the famous Little River hot dogs were either funny or sad, depending on the viewpoint of the suspects, Big Dave, Perk, Jimbo, Don Ho, Big Dipper, Craze, Boy George, Puddin’, Boss Hawg, C-Dog, J-Dog, Blackie, Savage, Jack Mac, Ralph Malph and Lightnin’.

For instance, listen to Boy George tell how he played the par-5 third hole: “I swung, I swung, I swung, I kicked it,” he said

“Yeah, you shoulda seen me on that crooked little par-4 fourth hole,” Puddin’ said. “I hit the tree in the middle of the fairway twice, then hit Boss Hawg. But I didn’t care; he shouldn’t have been standing behind the green anyway.”

Boss Hawg had his own tale of woe. “I didn’t play real well,” he said, “but I did hit a 200-yard sand shot. Is it my fault that it was only 10 yards to the pin?”

C-Dog was just delighted that he finished the round with at least half his clubs still intact. “You shoulda seen me on that ninth hole,” he bragged. “Saved at least three clubs when my ball stopped just short of the OB stake.”

Don Ho, one of the guys young enough to play from the regular tees, had his problems, too. “I killed the ball off the first tee and barely cleared the water,” he said. “Then I nailed a 3-wood, busted a 6-iron and finally reached the edge of the green with a wedge. That’s a par-4?”

Big Dave, one of the better, and younger, players in the group, seemed a little bedraggled when he came in. “I’ve putted some wicked-evil greens before,” he said, “but my putt on 18 had to roll over two elephant burial grounds and a scale model of Mt. Everest.”

Blackie was having a little trouble with a severe left-to-right shot. “I sliced my drive on three, sliced the second shot, sliced the third shot, and made a phone call to Subway to see if they could use some counter help,” he moaned.

Craze, who has been known to describe his three-hour rounds in less than six hours sometimes, was speechless for almost 20 seconds after taking a nine on one par-3. “That hurt,” he finally moaned.

Perk found a couple of the short holes, mildly, well, hazardous. “An eight on eight?” he groaned. “If I could have parred that par-3, I would’ve broken 80 on the front nine.”

J-Dog didn’t mind the short holes; it was the other 14 that gave him problems. “Nothing was working for me,” he said. “I tried everything but punting.”

Despite their woes on the course, the Gangsome went home happy. And Little River survived.